


Kismet

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Fairest of the Rare's Ship Me Saturdays, Idol Worship, M/M, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Albus Dumbledore is, despite his terrible instincts, in love with the wizard next door. This night, as Gellert Grindelwald approaches him with the Elder Wand, chaos ensues.





	Kismet

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Fairest of the Rare Facebook group Ship Me Saturday event. The prompt this week is: "We knew what we were getting into when we started this. We always knew this would happen."

Muggles have a saying that he likes to ruminate over from time to time: never touch your idols; the guiding will stick to your fingers. Perhaps most upsetting of all, if he’s listing all of the distressing bits of this muggle saying, which he absolutely is, arguably is that _touching_ his idol, who so happens to be his best friend, brings with it entirely different connotations. Of which, of course, is that he had no idea that he was gay until he knew that he was gay. And really, to his ever expanding sense of pure frustration over the whole sodding saying, he always believes himself above such baser feelings.

 _Love_. Pft.

Even though annoyance abounds, Albus still thinks, regrettably, that Gellert, idol though he doesn’t care to be, _is_ exactly that. Perhaps yet unknown and, sadly, unappreciated and misunderstood, but a figure to be revered. If he’s being truthful, and even most frustrating of all: he is, Albus knows exactly who Gellert is and what he offers and how it will enrapture the wizarding world if he’s only given a chance. Gellert, unfortunately, disagrees.

The man standing before him has a mission. Though it’s half-cocked and riddled with what-ifs, the very reason for Gellert’s residency in Britain is to fulfill his mission: be an instrument of the Greater Good. Albus heard the late night musings, even helped develop a semi-sane plan to execute the mission, and now as they stand facing one another, he is plagued by feelings and, most worrisome of all, fear that he’s going to lose Gellert.

“The cloak belongs to the Peverell heir,” Gellert informs him with a ridiculous sly smile on his thin lips. “The stone, I believe, among antiques with an old pureblood family.”

“And the wand?” Albus cannot help the excitement that hisses through his lips in a single breath. His eyes flicker to Gellert’s slender fingers encasing an old, bloodstained, wand.

Gellert brings the wand eye level and his small smile is now a dashing grin that puts dimples into his cheeks. He touches the old wood the way one might caress a lover. And when his eyes meet Albus’ unbreakable gaze, it’s like a fire is beating against his very soul.

“I won it from a witch,” Gellert informs him softly. “A muggleborn, of all things.”

“She must have fought gallantly.” Albus closes the distance between them and reaches for the wand, which is pulled away quickly. He has the decency to look ashamed for trying to nick it so soon after Gellert acquires it, but really, he doesn't feel ashamed at all.

“She lasted but a moment. Skilled dueler.” His lips quirked and his eyes sparkled. “Horrible instincts.”

Albus understands her, of course. It’s not as though he’s a fair dueler himself; one of the best Hogwarts ever churned out, according to his old Headmaster. It’s that his instincts are reckless and dependent entirely upon the boy holding an unbeatable wand between them.

“No one can know that I have this wand, Albus,” Gellert insists sharply. He allows Albus to envy the wood from a distance. “I’ve found that those who boast over it are the quickest to lose it. And I’ve no intention of losing it.”

“You’ll be revered for your persistence and your mystery,” Albus chuckles softly and places his hands into his pockets. “You’re leaving, then? Now that you have what you’ve been searching for?”

For the first time since Gellert arrived to Godric’s Hollow, his eyes soften. “I’d very much like to bring you along. Have you by my side.”

The fire flares again inside him and he tries like hell to quiet the hammering of his heart. “Aberforth is nearly through his schooling. Once he is free, so am I.”

A quick lift of his chin, showcasing a barely-there newly grown patch of beard, and Gellert settles every fear that Albus feels about being abandoned. The fear, of course, settles against the fire like a babbling brook; it quells the more pathetic attempts to win Gellert’s unyielding attention, but not quite enough to keep Albus from inching closer to his best friend and hoping he can read the, somewhat, inappropriate thoughts running through his mind.

A skilled legilimens, perhaps, can see the desperation in the deep trenches of Albus’ mind. How can he not, as it quakes just below the surface and calls to him like a battle cry in a cavern. Gellert, said skilled legilimens, reaches forward with a single, thin finger, and traces the youthful, and bearded, jawline that’s sharp like a diamond.

“There are other things I’ve no intention to lose, Albus.” Gellert pockets his trophy and steps into Albus’ very limited personal space. “I’d never force you to leave the family you have left, of course, it would be indecent of me. Though, I must admit that it brings me joy that you’ll be at my side.”

Warm breath, as mingled as it is between them, smells of lemon and peppermint. Albus can’t see the scruff at his friend’s chin any longer as Gellert’s eyes fill his whole sight. Hands run up his arms and back down again, and Merlin, sweet Circe, he can’t remember what happens when one touches their idol but surely, surely it’s all powerful and consuming and filled with heat.

“A matter of weeks,” Albus, fueled by their nearness, whispers and, against all of his instincts as a wizard, even the bad instincts he knows better than to follow, he closes his eyes and dares to close the gap between their lips.

It lasts but a moment, and in a sweet release of breath held for months and months, Albus is flooded with relief and the pull of something he never quite believed before: _love_ , was it? And, beguiling of all, amidst his own feelings, Gellert’s soft growl of appreciation sends electricity scaling his spine.

“I am humbled by my limitations,” Gellert says quietly as he gently presses their foreheads together, “but where I am weak, He is strong.”

Albus draws in a breath, and a stream of peppermint, and while he can’t understand the strength that Gellert believes is present in him, his ego is irrevocably stroked by it, and so it’s harder to pull away because it feels like nothing else he’s ever known in his life. To be viewed, however incorrectly, as the pillar and not the supplement, is exhilarating in a way that swoops through his stomach and makes him, however disagreeable it is, seek out more praise.

Their lips crash together and Albus threads his fingers through Gellert’s thick, blonde hair. It’s reckless and it’s frightening, even when Gellert pulls him closer and closer and touches him purposefully in places Albus wouldn’t have guessed would cause chills, he can’t pull away because his instincts are awful and this brilliant and powerful man _needs_ him. There are noises, some breathing, but also a lot of struggle for dominance. He _is_ strong, and despite knowing what Gellert holds in his pocket, and the plans he’s drawn up in his mind, Albus is _needed_ , and not as a caretaker but as an equal. He is needed _for the greater good_ , and by Gellert Grindelwald.

“This is what you’ve been planning, Albus? To abandon ‘er and to stick me with the things that are beneath such a brilliant mind?”

Albus and Gellert break apart, panting and uncomfortable, and while Gellert appears almost sickeningly amused by being caught, Albus immediately approaches his brother with hands up and pleading tones.

“Abe, it’s not what it looks like,” he says slowly upon approach. A face he’s seen before on Aberforth, the same look of disapproval his mother wore, stops him from getting too close. “We’re not leaving, not yet.”

He glances back to Gellert who is eyeing the younger Dumbledore with a sneer and, to Albus’ astonishment, with his hand hovering near the pocket that encases the unbeatable wand. Albus tries to shake his head ‘no’, and in a blind panic, reaches for his own wand, not sure which direction it will need to be aimed.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Aberforth growls and, true to the Dumbledore charm, yanks his own wand free of its constraints. “Are we bloody dueling in the garden, then? Winner stays with the girl?”

Albus knows his sarcasm, knows that Abe will stay with Arianna when he leaves, but Abe, simple mind as he is, will not let Albus forget it when he leaves. There’s no need to duel at all, just a show of puffed chests and fancy footwork. Or, so he thinks until Aberforth shouts at the wizard standing behind him.

“This monster is planning domination over all the world and you’re,” Aberforth spits between them and, in a classic dueler’s stance, raises his wand in defense, which means… “just going to run off with your secret lover?”

The spell hits Aberforth before Albus can even spin around to stop it. The wand still issues the tail end of a bright gold spell, and in a moment of pure fear, Albus darts forward and grips Gellert’s wrist.

“My family, Gellert. He’s-”

“A heathen, Albus. He’s _weak_!” Gellert rips his wand hand from Albus and flourishes the wood in an elaborate circle. “He wants to hold you back from greatness, from the greater good.”

“He doesn’t understand.” Albus helplessly watches his brother writhe on the ground; Gellert’s Unforgivable Curse attacking his body. “He’s just a boy. Just an uneducated boy.”

“Perhaps here is where we need to start.” Gellert’s eyes fall on Albus and, though Albus never knew it possible, they were cold, cruel, and unforgiving. “Your family doesn’t know you, Albus, they don’t see the potential we have. We can fix it, all of it, together.”

It feels much like being pulled apart, his mind and soul are here with Gellert, they belong to their mission, to the greater good. But, his heart, his loyalty, it is inseparable from his sister and his mother’s dying wish. He glances at his brother, tremors still racking his body as he stands and growls toward Gellert, and Albus, in a fury, casts several shield charms to keep them both safe. Just as he draws in a shaky breath, there’s a tiny hand on his shoulder, a feeling that he’d know anywhere because her magic thrums through him even if she never allows herself to use it.

“Arianna.” It’s a plea, to return inside the manor, to turn around and leave the grownups to their fight. “Please go, darling, hide in the house.”

She never speaks and, as a term of the conditions she laid upon herself when she was caught with magic all those years ago, she isn’t able to carry a wand for defense. ‘Your job to defend her,’ his father had yelled while being carted off to Azkaban. _His_ job, and instead of defending his little sister, instead of ensuring she lives the most ordinary life possible, Albus watches in slow motion as his shields around Aberforth and Gellert fall. He raises his wand, he pushes her away, three voices are garbled together as streaks of spells fire across the dark sky.

Only one body falls. It silently drops to the ground, not so much as a thud when it crumples. The very next sound he hears is sobbing and cursing and he’s being shoved away violently and held closely against a lithe body. He’s staring down at her little frame, wrapped prettily in a light blue dress, and he feels the wetness at his eyes as it drips down into his beard.

“We must go.” Gellert’s voice quietly instructs him as he steadies his shaking body. “Albus, if they find out what you did, if they see _her_ , you’ll be taken to Azkaban.”

Albus steps forward, but Gellert pulls him back. “I can’t just leave her. Gellert, I can’t - I can’t; she’s, is she-?”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Aberforth screams. It’s a raw sound as if his throat tears trying to force it out. And as much as Albus is focused just on the little body lying lifeless on the ground, he’s attuned to the pain of his brother, reminded of the way his brother lashed out when their mother was killed.

“I can fix it,” Albus promises and rips himself away from Gellert’s grasp. “I can - _I can_ \- fix it.”

He falls to his sister’s side and he tries every healing spell he can remember. None of them work. He’s sobbing with his brother and he doesn’t even notice when Gellert disappears.

“Leave.” Abe shoves Albus and uses his wand to levitate their sister’s body. Despite the tears, Abe’s voice is fierce and strong. “There’s nothing here for you now. Not _her_ , not me. You’re a fucking monster right along with ‘im.”

He isn’t sure what makes him leave in the end, whether it’s the terror of seeing her limp, lifeless body in the air and knowing his place as the cause, or if it’s the threatening way his brother is glaring at him, as if he’s one word away from killing him on the spot. Perhaps, and most shocking of all, it’s Gellert’s absence that frightens him. The urge to find him, to make this right somehow, and maybe, even a small bit, to beg for forgiveness for the part he’s played here tonight.

He flees, much like a coward, and he’ll never forgive himself. Climbing through old Bathilda Bagshots second story window, Albus launches himself at Gellert, who is sat on the bed with his head in his hands.

“Who cast the curse?” Albus begs as he plies Gellert’s hands away from his face. “Did I-? Was it from _my_ wand?”

He’s dying on the inside, he’s sure, and it’s an entirely different type of burn than the one he felt for Gellert before. It’s painful, so painful, in fact, that he’s sure he’s dying a slow and torturous death.

“Albus,” Gellert flexes his wrists and, after very little effort, has Albus’ hands resting between his. “We’ll never know the answer. Whatever it is, it’s not safe for us here anymore. We must leave. We have a mission, and I know you’re suffering now, but for the greater-”

“Don’t.”

The word tumbles out of his mouth so quietly, so final, that Albus finally opens his eyes and looks at Gellert. He’s no longer worried or sad, no longer anything he appeared only moments ago, and instead he’s steadfast and focused and, much to Albus’ dismay, _over it_.

“You’re shaking,” Geller tells him as if he isn’t aware. His fingers, still wrapped around Albus’ hand, begin to swipe gently at his palm, an effort to calm him. It barely works. “Albus. I _need_ you to focus. It was always going to start somewhere.”

Albus yanks his hands away, finally. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. To think of Arianna being the kickstarter to their mission, the first sacrifice in their quest, slicked his insides with rising bile. This isn’t what he signed up for, this isn’t what he wanted the greater good to be.

“When seeking out the Deathly Hallows,” Gellert tells him as if reading from a script he’d practiced for ages, “one has to be ready to face death, and to remember that death, itself, is in need of mastering. That is not exclusive to being the ones to die, Albus.”

“My sister is dead!” Albus roars the words, tries to make him understand, because he’s not a getting it, doesn’t care, is horribly inhuman as he sweeps aside the pain he’s feeling for her loss. “She wasn’t part of the plan!”

“No,” he agrees, in regrettable, but not altogether apologetic, tone.

Albus stands from the mattress and he, in a moment of sheer turmoil, turns to leave and back again. “I… I hope you find everything you seek in this life. But, it isn’t…”

“We would be brilliant together.” Gellert tries to hold onto Albus’ hand, but he pulls away as if burned. As if the guilding will stick to him. He stands tall, taller even than Albus, as he approaches carefully and with those wide eyes that tempted Albus so easily in the past. Now, a reminder of what he’s lost.

He’s done now, this is it. He cannot follow where Gellert is leading, and so he walks away and crawls out of the window as he’s done countless times before. This time is different. This time hurts.

As he lowers himself down the side of the house, Gellert calls after him, "We knew what we were getting into when we started this. We always knew this would happen."

“Goodbye, Gellert.” He turns away from the house with finality in his voice that he isn’t sure he means, because forever is a long time in a wizard's life, and maybe one day they could put this all behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Never touch your idols; the guilding will stick to your fingers - Gustave Flaubert
> 
> I am humbled by my own limitations, but where I am weak, He is strong - Rick Perry


End file.
